


in paris with you

by icemakestars



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Casual Sex, F/F, Getting to Know Each Other, One Night Stands, bad breakups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemakestars/pseuds/icemakestars
Summary: Mirajane is not in love; she is in Paris.
Relationships: Erza Scarlet/Mirajane Strauss
Kudos: 12
Collections: Fairy Tail LGBTales, The Mirza|Erzajane Top 10 Project





	in paris with you

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the lovefest but the original was only like 100 words so i wasnt gonna post it but then i added some shit and............ here we are
> 
> This is based on the poem 'in paris with you'

Mirajane had been in love before; that was how she had ended up in this bed. In these arms. She had been in love and had lost it, and now she was in Paris with a woman she did not know, doing things which she had only ever done in love.

This was not love. This was Paris. The skin beneath her fingertips was soft, but the sheets under them were rough; the walls around them peeled, kicking back dust and reminding Mirajane that this room was sordid. These acts were sordid. That dust filled her lungs and Mirajane choked around it, breathing it in until she was more full of Paris than she was herself.

Red hair splayed out on white bedding, eyes wide and lips searching. Mirajane met them halfway, kissed the woman until she was breathing in the air from the other woman’s lungs, crying out as their bodies moved to together, fast and frantic and not at all in sync.

This was supposed to be an escape, getting away from her past failures and the ex-boyfriend which still haunted her. These walls were unfamiliar; the body beneath her strange and uncertain, but Mirajane craved that release. Craved knowing that she was good enough for someone, at least.

She wanted to see more of Paris, more than the sliver of view she received when she sat up, straddling the redhead's waist and thrusting their bodies together. Mirajane's eyes found the streets below, masked by a net curtain, once white but now stained yellow, the colour of a smoker's teeth. The damage was irreversible; there was no getting back the purity which the fabric once held. Mirajane knew the feeling.

Despite that, Paris was beautiful. This woman was beautiful.

Mirajane wanted to cry.

She was not in love; she was in Paris. And somehow that hurt worst of all.


End file.
